


You're gone (and I gotta stay high all the time)

by hellcsweetie



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Pre-Canon, set during s7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellcsweetie/pseuds/hellcsweetie
Summary: Harvey stays with Paula and Donna spirals.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter, Paula Agard/Harvey Specter (Mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	You're gone (and I gotta stay high all the time)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been told this is a REALLY SAD fic, haha, so you've been warned.
> 
> This story features heavy drinking. If that is upsetting to you, please proceed with caution. Also, I hope it's clear from the story, but any and all sexual interactions referenced in this story are completely consensual.
> 
> Title and overall concept inspired by the song Habits (Stay High) by Tove Lo.
> 
> Hope you like it :)

"Donna?"

The bar is loud but his voice still cuts through the noise like a sharp knife. This is not a place she'd ever expect to find him, too pretentious and inexplicably expensive, bad popular music and filled with wannabes. The alcohol buzzing her system doesn't help - it makes her sloppy, too chatty, too open, and she doesn't want to open up to him.

Still, she can't just pretend he's not there, so she looks over her shoulder as he makes his way to the bar.

"Harvey," she offers an amicable smile, sipping her drink.

"Funny meeting you here, I didn't think this was your kind of scene," he says, and he's wearing a pleasantly surprised little smile but his words sound a bit accusing to her.

"I like to diversify," she offers, and if it sounds a bit defensive she blames it on the alcohol.

"Are you here alone?" he asks, looking around, presumably trying to spot anyone that could be her companion.

"Yup. Are you?"

"No, I'm meeting Henry Maxwell's son, he's taking over as CEO and wanted to talk," he rolls his eyes, knowing Donna is well aware of how he feels about heirs.

It's like fate has chosen today to screw with her, because right then Martin comes back with their drinks, crowding in on her, giving her a smirk that feels just on this side of lecherous. It took him almost twenty minutes to get the last round and this time, just because Harvey's here, it takes him five.

Harvey frowns, confused and probably annoyed at her half-truth.

She takes a steadying breath and turns to the guy beside her. "Martin, this is Harvey, a friend from work." She doesn't miss how his jaw tightens at her words.

Martin offers Harvey his hand and Harvey takes it, though it's all too clear he couldn't be less pleased to meet him. There's an awkward silence for a moment, Harvey not backing down, Donna willing him to go away, Martin unsure of what his role here is.

"Didn't you say you had a meeting?" she asks Harvey unsubtly.

"I got here early," he retorts dryly, eyes fixed on her, not paying the other man any mind.

She turns to Martin again. "Could you get me some water, please? I'm thirsty."

"But I just got you a drink," he retorts and she'd roll her eyes at him if Harvey weren't there.

"Yes, but I could really use a water to go with it," she insists plainly, and he must be very interested, because he sighs and walks away to fetch her water.

"I didn't know you were seeing someone," Harvey jabs as soon as he's out of earshot.

"I'm not," she states firmly, unwilling to fall for his tricks.

"Him, Donna? Seriously?" he nods in Martin's general direction, brows raised. Truthfully, she knows what he means, but she doesn't really care.

"What, Harvey? He's hot, I'm not getting married," she scoffs.

"You can do better, even for a one-night stand," he says, and she has to remind herself to stay calm because that's so rich coming from him. First of all, because Harvey has had his fair share of more-than-questionable one-night stands. And second of all, because this isn't her choosing the guy of her dreams. This is just for one night, and she wants something easy, uncomplicated, no expectations. She agrees, she could do _a lot_ better. The problem is the best isn't available.

"Well, you know what? I'm a grown woman, Harvey, and I'm single, and I can fuck whoever the fuck I want," she all but spits at him, suddenly completely over his holier-than-thou, condescending attitude. She feels bad enough about herself already without him adding to the mix.

Martin chooses that moment to make his return, and this time Donna's relieved.

"You're absolutely right, Donna," Harvey retorts dryly, gritting his teeth. "Have a _great_ night," he says, voice dripping sarcasm, and nods, completely ignoring the other man and stalking off. She feels sick, anger making her blood boil and her heart hammer in her chest. 

She takes her drink and downs it in a few gulps, grabbing her water bottle and telling Martin for them to get out of here.

She goes back to his place and fucks him, and he is indeed hot but the sex is less than memorable. No sex has been memorable lately, which is kind of the issue.

It all started when Harvey got engaged.

Rationally, she'd always known there could come a time when he would meet someone he really cared about and wanted to build a life with. It's just that Donna really hoped that someone would be her. And the tiny part of her that managed to salvage itself from that particular illusion still thought that would take years and years to happen, that she'd have time to prepare.

She supposes she did have time. She just didn't prepare.

And then he met Paula, and it was as if everything he'd ever done wrong with his other girlfriends, he was suddenly doing right - dates, anniversaries, vulnerability. She knew him well, better than most, and she understood him, and she was who he wanted to be with, no matter how much Donna thought he'd be better off with her instead.

Donna had tried to hold herself together. She offered ideas and support. She played the part of the supportive best friend, trying her hardest to ignore the increasingly urgent feelings bubbling up inside of her. She tried to be happy for him, because what sort of person would she be if she didn't?

Except the harder she tried, the harder she failed. She could feel herself tearing at the seams, making wrong choices and losing sight of what she wanted. She almost slept with a married man. She buried her feelings without deciding what they really were, she ran away from hard truths and she lied to him, so many times and in so many ways. Each step she took towards supporting his relationship felt like one step further away from her sanity. 

Giving his keys back, relinquishing their after-work drinks, letting go of the hope she'd harbored of finally having more with him because the time, funnily enough, had finally seemed right. She did it all, and it suffocated her.

Eventually her feelings clawed their way out of her by way of a kiss. She knew it was wrong, she knew it would hurt him and jeopardize his relationship, but she just had to know what the fuck was going on inside of her, if the terror she felt creeping every time she thought of losing Harvey was really love or just codependency, if she should talk to him, tell him something in some way, or not. And a tiny part of her also had to know if he could possibly feel the same.

Except the kiss told her little about herself, and a lot about Harvey. She still felt confused and lost, unsure of what to do even though she was now positively sure she was still as in love with him as ever. Harvey, on the other hand, made his stand absolutely clear: he did not feel the same. And he resented her for using him as a guinea pig.

And so she apologized, and she worked again to make his relationship work, to show him she cared more about his happiness than her own feelings for him - which she'd lied to him about. She tucked herself away, made herself available to him when he reached out to her, made sure she knew her place in his life. The friend, or colleague.

He told Paula about the kiss, and it almost tore them apart. Donna felt horrible all over again, responsible for ruining the one relationship Harvey had ever truly worked hard at, to no gain of her own. She apologized again, and the only good part about all this is that Harvey seemed to have forgiven her. They were safe, if not exactly the same as they'd always been.

It took some time and some effort on everyone's part but eventually Paula got over the whole thing. Harvey made Donna promise nothing like that would ever happen again, and she did, because it wouldn't. They stayed friends, even though things weren't the same anymore, and would probably never be, but Donna couldn't, didn't want to live without him in her life, and so she took what she could get, grateful to even have it at all.

The day he got engaged was one of the worst days of Donna's life. It was Rachel who told her, as soon as Harvey told Mike. It stung not to be the first person Harvey told - it stung not to be the person he got engaged to - but she supposes it was better this way. Rachel is careful and kind, and her words were tender, soft, as gentle as they could be. Donna felt mildly pathetic for requiring cushioning, and for being so transparent. But she did require it, because she swallowed the announcement like a sack of rocks, sinking into her stomach and pinning her to the bottom of the ocean. She faked surprise and joy when Harvey finally told her, and she cried.

The wedding was nice, even though her sole thought throughout the entire thing was that it should have been her. She smiled for pictures and she made small talk and she batted away Rachel's concern and fussing. She pretended not to know why Mike gave her an extra tight hug when he greeted her, and she pretended not to notice Louis and Jessica's worried looks. She cheered and clapped when required, she helped sort out a hiccup with the bartenders, and she stood at an appropriate distance when Harvey asked her for a dance, for old times' sake.

She cried again in the bathroom of the venue, grateful for her own decision to wear waterproof makeup. She felt completely pitiful and weak and small. She, who had always been great at going after what she wanted. She, who had never diminished herself for anyone else, let alone a man. She, who had never been afraid of speaking the truth and who had always taken things in stride. Crying at a wedding. Like a ridiculous romantic comedy cliché.

She stayed for another hour and left, going straight to a bar she'd been to once with Rachel. She'd avoided drinking at the wedding, afraid she'd get carried away and make an even bigger fool of herself. At the bar she didn't have the same concern. She threw back drink after drink, letting the alcohol numb her, make her forget about the hours she just spent watching the love of her life get married to someone else.

A handsome stranger came up to her, and she didn't even bother memorizing his name before she let him take her home. Just like that she was not thinking about Harvey anymore, or Paula, or heartbreak. She was all giggles and moans and oblivion.

The next day was a blur of the worst hangover she's ever had and the shame and regret of what she'd done. She sneaked out before the guy woke up - it took her a while to even understand where in the city she was - and spent the whole day in bed, nursing a headache and trying to sleep off her embarrassment. She promised herself she'd never do that again.

Except she went into work on Monday and Harvey wasn't there, and when she asked after him she was reminded. The honeymoon.

It made her feel like shit, and lonely, and bitter. After work she went home and tried to distract herself but not even the TV was enough. She couldn't think of anything else other than his wedding and his honeymoon and his happiness with a woman that wasn't her. She considered calling Rachel, but she was probably still at work, what with the time zones, and none of her other friends would understand. So she got back into her dress and went out, not even trying for a repeat of Saturday, just looking to see people, to feel less alone.

She was a respectable two drinks in when a guy hit on her - younger, investment banker, seemed funny. She turned him down, resolute to stick to her original plan, but the clock kept ticking and the thought of going home alone was sounding more terrifying by the minute. It was a Monday, and the bar was closing early, and she could go somewhere else, try to catch some other place still open and with late closing, but she had no clue where and it all felt like too much trouble anyway.

To add to that, it seemed like everyone around her either came with someone or met someone there; she knew it was likely not the case, but she felt like the only single person there - the only single person in New York, even. She noticed the guy who had hit on her was still there, and when she smiled at him, he smiled back. She pondered her next move before the bartender asked her if she wanted a last round. She said yes. And then she said yes to the guy, too.

He was indeed funny. She laughed like she hadn't laughed in ages. And him being younger not only helped her confidence, but it also afforded them logistical possibilities guys her age couldn't offer her. She hadn't had a one-night stand on a work night in years, and on the day after that she was exhausted, but it felt like a good choice.

The guy - Matt - asked her out again, and she said yes, but on their second date she was less interested. He was still handsome and funny, but they didn't have a lot in common and the age gap felt more obvious. And without the intoxication of their previous encounter, she felt weird and awkward, going after a guy almost half her age just to feel something. She went home with him, not entirely in the mood but unsure of how to turn him down when she'd encouraged all his advances so far. The sex, at least, was just as good, but she didn't sleep over and the next morning she texted him to tell him she wasn't interested.

She told herself she had to stop. That wasn't healthy. She needed to figure out a way to live with herself, and to live with Harvey and his new reality. This wasn't her, she wasn't a quitter or someone who ran away from her problems.

But Harvey's return made things even more difficult. He'd talk about his honeymoon or mention something about Paula and her stomach would drop and her throat would clog up again. 

She'd experienced heartbreak before - often at his hand - but she'd never experienced anything like this. This deep feeling of loss, of being completely shred to pieces, like her limbs were being stretched torturously. It sounded surreal to say but the food didn't taste the same anymore, she couldn't sleep, her days blurred together, she looked at herself in the mirror and saw nothing but a shell of who she'd been. He was _so_ happy. And it was killing her.

The worst part of all this is that it made her realize that Harvey is practically her whole life. She got her job because of him, and her position as COO. She met all her friends, bought all her clothes, went to most of the places she knows. Time and time again she chose to stay by his side, follow his path, because she thought that's what she wanted. She wanted the best, and he was the best, and choosing him had always felt like the right choice, both professionally and personally. And him moving on, them not working together anymore, made her wonder whether, in the end, all she did was give up a childhood dream for a crush.

She started questioning whether she should have abandoned acting, whether she'd still be a COO if it hadn't been for Harvey, whether she'd have been happier working at one of the law firms that offered her a job when she quit the DA's. She started wondering whether her accomplishments were her own, or an extension of his. Whether her life was her own, or an extension of his.

The doubts grew inside of her, mixing with the happy memories, covering it all in a haze of uncertainty. She was no longer sure of who she was, what she had or what she wanted.

One day she ran into Paula and Harvey at the lobby leaving the firm, and the mere sight of them holding hands - his mother's ring on her finger - and saying goodbye to her to leave together made her sick. She swallowed the bile rising up her throat and she headed straight to a bar, a cheap hole in the wall she used to go to with Harvey back during their DA's days. She drank tequila and she found a guy who was nothing like her usual style and she fucked him in the bathroom, fast and greasy in the warm cubicle. She stumbled out of there and went home, took a sleeping pill and woke up the next day semi-functional, enough not to raise any suspicions at work.

She never _planned_ on keeping this up. Drinking more than an occasional glass of wine during weekdays, sleeping around, going to bars alone, that wasn't her. She didn't do that, she had too much self-respect to waste time, money and health like that. Except she was starting to suspect her self-respect was gone along with Harvey's bachelordom. She didn't respect herself any more for sitting at home alone, feeling miserable in her bathtub or over her shitty Thai. At least going out she could lose more self-respect next to other warm bodies.

There was no schedule, no strategy, it was just when she felt like it - which, not that coincidentally, was more or less whenever Harvey unwittingly shoved his relationship in her face. A conversation about an anniversary gift he bought. Declining to stay for office drinks because he'd promised to be home early. A double date with Mike and Rachel when they came to visit, despite Rachel's insistence that Paula was bland and they both hated the whole thing and wished it had been her.

Every time something like that happened, off she went to a bar. It could be high-end or cheap or alternative, depending on her mood. She met some nice guys, and some not-so-nice guys, and she let them all fuck the memory of Harvey away, at least for a night. She never had the patience to meet any of them again, not interested in their backstories and expectations. She wanted simple and straightforward and all pleasure, no pain or effort because she had that plenty with Harvey.

She thinks people are starting to notice. Samantha has made a comment or two about her appearance, Louis has been asking her over for dinner with a suspicious increase in frequency, Rachel texts her daily to check in. It annoys her. She's a grown woman, and she doesn't want to be coddled. She's well aware she's lost control of her life and for the first time she likes it, welcomes the chaos. She doesn't want to be the respectable, responsible, reliable Donna of always. She wants to revel in her brokenness, wallow in her puddle of tears, she wants to press where it hurts and to feel dirty and cheap.

It hurts, all the time. The memory of Harvey, of _them_ , hurts, and the only time she's not hurting is when she's numbed by booze and someone's hands on her body. She doesn't want help because _this_ is better than facing reality. And the fact she feels pathetic for even feeling this way just makes things worse.

She wears clothes she hadn't worn in years. She drinks things she'd ordinarily deem too strong. She's easy, way easier than usual, and she looks for easy as well. Pills and vitamins and makeup are her best friends, carrying her through hangovers and hickeys and nights spent up. She works hard to keep everything afloat at the firm, to make sure nothing under her supervision slips, and she manages it because she's still Donna, after all.

But when she leaves work, things come crashing again. It's either home to an empty apartment, plans with friends where she'll fake a smile all night, or some stranger's bed. Wash, rinse, repeat.

She thinks maybe this is what failure looks like. Then she notices Harvey's wedding band and she decides she doesn't really give a shit.

*

"Donna!"

It takes her a while to understand that the pounding she's hearing is not inside her head.

"Donna, open up!"

She open her eyes, squinting against the harsh light of her bathroom. The world spins and she leans over the toilet, panting a bit. Her body aches and her head is heavy, and she feels like she's going to be sick again, though nothing comes up.

"Donna!"

She hears slamming - is that Harvey trying to break down her door? Her brain manages to locate herself a bit and she forces her body to get up, afraid Harvey will succeed in his endeavor. She leans against the walls to steady her way towards the front door, bumping into furniture and avoiding turning on any more lights than she needs to.

"Stop," she groans as she swings the door open, finding a terrified-looking Harvey ready to slam shoulder first into her door again.

"What the fuck is going on, Donna? Why didn't you open the door?" he's practically screaming and she feels self-conscious, afraid he'll wake up her neighbors. It's probably very late, and she'd rather not do this right now, when she's barely able to stand up, let alone fight, but she doubts he'll leave if she asks him to and she doesn't want to do this in the hallway.

She steps back, wrapping her arms around her middle, only now noticing she's still wearing the dress she came home in, and nods for him to come inside, closing the door behind him.

He marches into her living room, flicking the lights on like he owns the place, and the move annoys her. She closes her eyes, massaging her temples and hoping he'll take mercy on her, say his piece and leave.

"What the hell, Donna?" he finally turns to her, lifting his arms.

She rolls her eyes. "What, Harvey? It's the middle of the night, it took me a moment to open the door, so what?" Her speech is coming out a little slurred, but she's managing to stay upright and not barf, so she thinks that's progress.

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. Besides, you clearly weren't asleep," he points at her and she knows the picture she's painting - wrinkled dress, no heels, hair mussed and eye makeup likely smudged. She doesn't look like someone who's got her life together.

"What I was doing is none of your concern," she scowls at him, her anger sobering her up. Who does he think he is, showing up here unannounced at three o'clock in the morning and demanding answers like that?

"You know why I'm here, Donna? Because your friend, Rachel, was worried about you!" he all but spits. "She's been trying to call you for an hour and you won't pick up your phone."

Shit. Rachel. She'd taken to ask Donna to let her know when she left a guy's house and when she got home, and Donna had been pretty good at keeping her word, but tonight she really overdid it with the alcohol, drinking more than she had on any other night. She'd texted Rachel to tell her she was leaving and never told her she got home okay. A pang of guilt settles in her gut because the girl must be out of her mind with worry, even more so if she went to the extent of calling Harvey, but it's not enough to make her less annoyed at him.

"Well, you're right, she's _my_ friend and I'll settle this with her, so you can go."

"Oh, no, no, no. I came all the way here in the middle of the night, so now we're gonna talk," he steps towards her, finger pointing menacingly.

"I have nothing to say to you," she stands her ground.

"Then you're going to listen," he takes another step closer. "You need help, Donna."

She thinks he might be right, and if this were Rachel or anyone else she might be more inclined to lay down her arms. But the one person she will not take this from is Harvey. Especially if he'll continue abusing his superiority complex.

"I don't need your help," she shakes her head and Harvey starts nodding.

"Yes, you do. Where were you before?"

"It's none of your business," she crosses her arms, frowning.

"You were with a guy, weren't you?" he eggs her on.

"What if I were?" she retorts defensively.

"I'm willing to bet it wasn't the same guy as yesterday?"

Her mouth sours. "Why do you even care, Harvey?"

"I _don't_ , Donna!" he snaps, and at least he got _that_ right. "I wouldn't give a shit who you sleep with if you weren't doing it out of some self-destructive impulse!"

She scoffs. How nice, he must have gotten that from his wife. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" he lifts his brows in challenge, "Are you gonna tell me that's not what's going on? That you haven't been sleeping around? And going out alone, drinking, making questionable choices?"

His words sound so scornful, so belittling, and it's possibly not even his intention but it's clear he's lost all admiration for her. Well, good. She doesn't need it anymore.

"In fact, I think _this_ has been going on since that night I saw you at that bar." God, that was ages ago. "Maybe even before that."

"I don't need to explain myself to you-" she tries to counter but he's shaking his head, lips pursing.

"I should have known. That bar, that _guy_? I should have known something was wrong."

This makes her blood boil. What the fuck does he think he's doing talking to her like that? Like she's some sad case, someone lost in life, in need of saving.

"I don't need you to handle me, Harvey, I'm a big girl!" she steps towards him, voice going higher. "And I don't owe you anything. I can fuck whoever I want, and do whatever I want. We're way past the time when you could have any say in that." She's dizzy and heavy but it feels good to be saying all this.

"I don't want to be your babysitter, Donna, I'm trying to make sure you don't lose everything you fought so hard for!" 

This makes her scoff again. As far as she's concerned, she's already lost everything she fought so hard for - her sanity, her sense of self-worth, her goals and aspirations, her sense of wonder.

"God, Harvey, leave me alone!" she complains, hands moving to express her frustration.

"I won't leave you alone, not until you get out of this funk!"

She knows exactly what he means and she should be thankful, maybe, but his life if perfect and it kills her to know he knows hers is far from it.

"Funk? What are you talking about? I'm doing exactly what I want with my life," she laughs manically, trying so hard to prove something to them both.

"This is what you want? This?" he points at her.

"You condescending son of a bitch," she shakes her head and by now they're barely hearing themselves, both talking over the other, too deep in their own realities, speaking more to get things off their chest than to actually get through.

"You want to lie to yourself and pretend you're happy, fine, Donna-"

"You think you can come here and talk to me like this?"

"- but don't think for a second we don't know you're ruining your life."

"Ruining my life?" she has a sarcastic smile on her lips but her eyes are filling up, pent-up frustration begging to be let out.

"Yes, you're _ruining your life_ ," he says again, firmly, eloquently, like the closer he is.

"No, Harvey, _you_ ruined my life!" she finally explodes, tears spilling. " _You_ ruined it. It was _you_ who came it into and made me want to give up everything I'd ever planned and worked for. _You_ made me want to give up every good guy I've ever met. _You_ made me hope, and want, and wait. And then you took it all away from me. So you don't get to come here now and tell me how to live."

She's full-on sobbing now, her nose running unattractively to complete her look, she likely has mascara tracks down her cheeks, her chin is wobbling and she can barely see Harvey from the way her vision is blurry. She doesn't remember the last time she cried like this in front of someone, let alone him. She'd be embarrassed but she doesn't really care anymore.

She notices her words hit him hard, though, from the way he recoils and the mouth that was open and poised for a comeback clamps shut.

She lets her head hang, too weak to hold it up, and the weight imbalance makes her stumble and she's only marginally glad Harvey is close enough to catch her before she falls down, humiliating herself even more.

He holds her by the arms and she lets him take most of her weight, suddenly feeling so tired. She sniffles, breathing shaky as her tears subside.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is now soft and low, "You need to get some sleep."

She shakes her head slowly, which doesn't help with the dizziness, and swallows. "Get out," she croaks out, voice rough from the yelling and the crying.

"No, Donna, I'm gonna take you to bed," he tells her, gently yet firmly. Maybe the night just got to be too much, because she stops protesting and lets him half-carry her to her bedroom.

She fights to keep her eyes open as he unzips her dress and peels it off her, as he drags what she thinks is a makeup remover wipe down her cheeks, as he draws her covers and helps her lie down. She groans as the ceiling spins and Harvey tells her he knows, it will get better soon. He covers her up and sets a water glass on her bedside table and turns off the light, and then it's minutes of nausea until she finally succumbs to a dreamless sleep.

*

Her eyes hurt. She hasn't even opened them yet but simply moving them hurts.

Her head hurts like hell, her temples aching and a dull thud beating on her forehead.

Her throat is dry, mouth made of cotton. She really is too old to be feeling like this.

She moves around a bit and feels like she's going to be sick. She poises to run to the bathroom but the urge to vomit passes and she turns a bit more towards her bedside table, where she finds a glass of water and a painkiller.

She's just finished taking them when Harvey opens her door slowly, the trickling of light causing her to squint. "Oh, good, you're up."

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I stayed the night," he straightens up a bit, leaning against the doorjamb with a hand in his pocket.

"You shouldn't have," she looks down and Harvey sighs.

"Donna, I don't want to fight with you about this. I was worried, I wasn't going to leave you here alone."

He sounds tired, and she is too, so she just swallows any further protests, still not looking at him.

"I made us some food. How about you go take a shower and I'll meet you in the kitchen?" His voice is gentle and it makes her feel a bit like a bratty child, but she's glad she's not alone.

"Does your wife know you're here?" she asks quietly.

He hesitates for a second, but when he speaks he sounds relaxed. "No. She thinks I'm at the office, I told her we had an emergency with the merger."

Donna feels a pang of remorse for making Harvey lie to her. He's not cheating, but there's a reason why he had to lie about this, and she feels bad for being such a wreck that he felt like he had to do it. So she nods, clutching her sheets to her chest to prevent him from seeing her in just her lingerie, even though he'd seen her like that the night before, and waits for him to leave so she can follow his instructions.

The shower helps a lot, and by the time she meets him by the stove, the embarrassment and the regret are still there but she's feeling a lot better. She leans sideways against the counter, arms crossed, and watches as he maneuvers a frying pan.

"You still like french toast?" he asks gently.

Donna nods.

"Good. You can go sit, these will be ready in a second," he nods towards her set table.

Harvey hadn't been to her place in a long time, and having him here like this, untucked shirt and no tie, no shoes, navigating her kitchen as if it were his, making her favorite breakfast, it makes her long for something she knows she can't have. Her throat constricts and she blinks a few times to force back any trace of tears. "Thanks," she murmurs timidly, still not looking at him, and makes her way to the table.

They eat peacefully, enjoying his admittedly very good french toast and the coffee he made the way they like it. She asks about the merger and listens to him go on about how Henry Maxwell's son is actually not that bad. It's been so long since they last had a moment like this, a quiet moment between them to talk about work and gossip and laugh. She doesn't know when they changed, when they decided they would no longer do this. She wonders if it was after she kissed him, or even before that, if it was a conscious decision or if they just let their friendship fizzle out.

She misses him. Dearly. And being like this with him again, she realizes she misses her _friend_. She misses their moments, their laughter, the nights listening to his father's music or plotting against Louis. Regardless of her romantic feelings for him, he was her best friend, and she is now realizing that losing him in that capacity might have been the biggest loss she's ever faced.

When they're done he clears the table and comes back, pulling his chair closer to hers. He takes a breath, looks at his hands as they clasp on his knees, then looks back up at her. "What's going on, Donna?"

His voice is so small, so quiet and broken.

Her chin wobbles and her eyes waver and she looks down and whispers, "I don't know." She doesn't. She knows, intellectually, what is going on and why it's going on. But she doesn't know why she can't pull herself together, why she can't quit hurting herself like this, why she can't just move on.

He waits a moment, seeing if she'll elaborate, but nothing else comes out.

"About last night...," he starts, and shame washes over her. "You were right, Donna."

She wasn't expecting that, and she lifts her head to find his slightly hanging.

"I act like I don't know how much you've given up for me, or that you've always put me first, but I do. And I act like I never asked for it, but I sure as hell never stopped you. And I'm sorry, Donna."

His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and she wants to say something but she doesn't even know how to respond.

Harvey lifts his head and she sees his eyes glistening. "You're-," he stops, exhales, looks away, shakes his head a bit, "You're my best friend, Donna. And I wasn't a very good friend in return."

His voice is breaking and tears sting her eyes again.

"You deserved better. I've always known that. I guess my fear was that one day you'd know it too. And then you'd leave."

If only he knew that ever since she met him at that bar, leaving had never been an option.

"But this is no excuse. You should never have had to do all that, and I should never have made you feel like you had to."

"Harvey..."

He takes a breath and looks at her.

"I didn't mean any of that," she shrugs dejectedly, shakes her head. "I didn't _give up_ my dream. My dream just changed. And meeting you," she stops, swallows, her voice starting to tremble, " _choosing_ you was the best choice I've ever made."

He bites the inside of his lip and she knows he's taking in her words.

"As for the rest," she takes a deep breath, preparing herself. She's spent fifteen years terrified of this conversation, but it's time. They can't run anymore.

"I never wanted to want more, Harvey," she starts quietly, and it's the absolute truth. "I wanted you to be like any other guy. And I wanted The Other Time to be like any other night. But it wasn't," she shrugs, taking her time, voice wavering, "And you aren't. And I tried so hard to let it go, to meet someone else. You hurt me, Harvey, and you denied us every chance we ever got... And yet, I couldn't. Every day I woke up and I still loved you. You have no idea how much that made me feel like a failure. And now, to see you have everything I wanted with someone else... I just can't be happy. I can't. I'm sorry."

It's almost surreal that she just said all this. So many years sweeping their feelings under the rug, turning a blind eye, taking things out of their minds. All undone, just like that. And it wasn't even that hard, maybe because she feels like she has nothing left to lose.

Harvey's quiet for a moment, processing. Donna thinks this can't possibly be such a huge surprise for him, but then again, she doesn't know if there's a limit to the things Harvey will lie to himself about.

"I know it's my fault. You're right, I never gave us a chance," he says quietly and she's actually surprised to hear his admission. "But I couldn't risk you."

"I know," she says, and she understands, she does, thinks he's justified because she's felt the exact same so many times, "But we could have been so good together." Her voice falters to a whisper and her tears pool in her eyes again, her chin wobbling.

Harvey's face softens. "We could have," he agrees quietly, "We were, Donna. We were the best together. And not Paula, nor this, nor anything else can change that."

She looks at him and he's looking at her so earnestly, so completely sure of what he just said. And he's right. They've always been the best together, at everything they've done. They shone brightly, they blazed trails, and even though it physically pains her that they seem to be over, or at least what they had seems to be over, it is true that nothing can ever erase what they had.

So she nods, shows him he's right, she knows.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life, Donna, I'm just trying to help," he says after a moment of silence.

She sniffles and nods. "I know", she replies, more recomposed, and props her elbow on the table, playing with her bottom lip. "It's just... I've tried, Harvey. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix myself while you're around."

It's not exactly a novel idea. She's considered it before, many times over the years, when he annoyed or hurt her, when his presence felt suffocating. But she never actually took it seriously, because disconnecting herself from him never felt like a true need. But now it does. And the idea hits her in the face again.

"What are you saying?" he asks, and she can hear the tension beneath the veneer of calmness.

She bites her bottom lip. "I think I need to leave, Harvey."

She expects him to protest, to bargain, to lash out like he did every other time she suggested that. She doesn't expect him to just tighten his jaw and nod.

"I want you to be happy, Donna. If you think that will help with that, go for it."

She looks at him, finds his sure eyes, the same eyes that looked at her in that dimly lit bar and crinkled around a smile as she gave him her usual spiel. The eyes that can read her better than anyone else's, even better than she'd like. The eyes she can read like a book, that forego words when they lock with hers through glass or across a room. They find hers again now, and they communicate things that their mouths never could.

As if they'd agreed, they get up at the same time and she wraps her arms around his middle, grateful for the warmth that engulfs her when he wraps his around her too. He holds her tight, close, like he hadn't done in years, maybe never. She buries her face in his neck, inhales his scent, commits it to memory, and she can feel his nose in her hair as well.

She starts crying again - she can barely believe how much she's cried since last night - and this hurts like a motherfucker but there's also an underlying sense of peace, like she's setting herself free, and with his blessing.

"I'll miss you," she whispers, so low she's not even sure he heard her until he whispers, "I'll miss you too."

They part after she doesn't know how long, both visibly sad, visibly grieving this monumental loss, but her eyes are finally clear. Harvey squeezes her shoulders, presses his lips together and nods once.

He helps her clean up, makes her promise to check in later. Then he gives her a kiss on the cheek and leaves.

*

There was a time when the idea of leaving New York City would have felt like tearing herself apart limb by limb. It was unthinkable, because everything that made up her life was there. Her friends, the job she loved, Broadway, the places she used to go. Harvey.

In the end, it's easier than she thought. Leaving her apartment hurts, and Louis cries and it breaks her heart. But her mind is made up and, no matter how painful, this feels like the right decision.

Rachel had proposed the idea a few times before, neither of them taking it very seriously, but the offer was a standing one, and she was thrilled to make it again when Donna called her, a few days after her conversation with Harvey. They arranged the details, she helped her pick a new place, and they set a date.

Harvey took her out to dinner at Del Posto, a swan song to close that chapter of their lives. For one night there was no wife, no worries, no heartbreak, just them and the years they spent building the best friendship the world has ever seen. She asked him not to go with her to the airport, otherwise she might lose the nerve to go, and he agreed, nodding and hugging her before he tucked her safely into a cab and promised to visit soon.

And now here she is, leaving New York. Her flight leaves in two hours and she's trying not to think about it too much. She's gone through the seven stages of grief several times and she's back to acceptance, but it's still a weird feeling, to uproot her life like that and leave everything she's known her whole adult life behind.

She works hard not to think about the firm and the people there, or her apartment, her friends who had nothing to do with the law. She doesn't think about the bagel place next to her building that had the best breakfast in the world, or the stores she liked to browse during the weekend, or her yoga studio. She even avoids thinking about her parents, who will now be a several-hour flight away from her, instead of a two-hour drive.

She tries not to think about the fact that she's stepping away from the longest, closest, most important relationship she's ever had.

As the plane takes off and she watches the city she's called home for two decades grow tiny, Donna thinks she'll be just fine.


End file.
